The booster packs blew away as my Shadow Cat's massive, three-toed feet plowed into the broken desert surface of Dneiper, an unremarkable world in an unremarkable sector of space. The planet looked like any of a thousand others like it - billowing sandstorms, a smattering of scattered scrub, and a broken, craggy surface sucked dry of even the tracest amounts of water. The sun's oppressively-bright rays filtered through the dust-saturated atmosphere, casting the landscape and in a ghastly shade of what could best be described as 'urine yellow.' I grimaced, and polarized my cockpit glass.
If my ’Mech needed a tan, I’d get a new paint job...
"Hermes Lance - form up on me, and advise ready status."
"Hermes Lance - form up on me, and advise ready status." "Roger. This is Venom reporting operation ready."
I steered my nimble Chimera battlemech into the standard Crayven formation, line formation, and matched the Major's speed. There was lot of static and distortion in the transunit communication, almost as if there was some kind of interference. I dismissed it for the time being, instead preparring for the imminent investigation the pirates would no doubt conduct.
A few moments later, after all of Hermes lance had formed up I spotted a swiftwind scout.
"Let's announce our intentions."declared stryker, and in a brilliant flash his clan medium lasers had pierced the vehical leaving only scrap.
I observed on my radar as Hermes lance became more and more distant, readying itself for some of Major Stryker's finesse-filled battle manuevers. I on the otherhand was taking things much more simply. I had pulled Ares into a standard line formation and we were advancing as quickly as possible on what was identified from the air as the largest local threat. Estimated resistance placed our pirate friends in possesion of over two lances of mechs. If this were any major house or mercenary outfit that would mean trouble, but pirates are disorganized and almost always using second rate gear. They would look far more menacing than they would prove.
I, like the Half-moon, was trying to initiate radio contact with any of the crew from the Foundation but was having no luck. I tried all of the major Crayven frequencies and got little more than static. What's more, the quality of my radio communication with Hermes was getting worse by the meter. At 500 meters distance and growing I could barely make out with clarity what the Major was saying.
I cut him off and said, "Major, I'm loosing you fast and nobody is getting anything from the Foundation. I suspect there is some kind of interference device inhibiting communication."
I checked my C3 connection to the Martinez's Raven and was getting zilch.
The reply came back, fading fast, "Rog...nol,....ncy jamming d....radar....mechs ahead."
With all the care we had taken to bring a well equiped scouting lance and targetting network these pirates were royaly screwing things up. From what I could make out the Major was warning me that we were could expect company soon. I decided to address the lance.
"All right Ares, these pirates have some nasty toys set up to jam our comms, so stick close and stay tight. These space scum are going to find out first hand what Crayven Securities is made of, let's make sure we make 'em hurt."
A burst of confirmations came over as we made ready to hit the first line of pirate resistance.
The horribly-battered, patchwork-ridden Urbanmech was literally torn asunder as the gauss round lobbed forth from my Shadow Cat's arm smashed at near-supersonic speeds through the squat BattleMech's rusting, poorly-maintained center torso, crashing through the diminutive machine's reactor casing and causing an instantaneous cascade failure of the fusion mass containment chamber within. The 'Mech went up in a blossom of ultrablue light and burning plasma as I steered my medium Clan OmniMech around the fallen giant, tacking into the rapidly-worsening sandstorm and squinting into the maelstrom.
"Hermes Lead to Ares Lead - if you can copy me, I estimate our distance from the Foundation at one-point-five-oh clicks from our current location. We're slightly off-target but not enough to compromise mission profile. Sensor functionality is extremely limited due to the very high levels of metallic debris in the sandstorm - we're getting a lot of phantom echoes over here, and it doesn't help that these guys are running some sort of ECM."
A blast of static met my ears as I pushed forward into the storm. Either Director Miyamoto was trying to acknowledge me, or he wasn't receiving the transmission at all. I defered to the former, as my onboard computer chirped with an intelligence update concerning the crashed WarShip we were now slugging our way toward, courtesy of the Half Moon. The garbled text readout scrolled across my screen, its descriptive sections nearly illegible thanks to the ground pounders with the ECM unit. I scrolled through the nonsensical information, and opened the image attachment embedded in the document. My breath caught in my throat as the picture, downloaded from a camera drone, spoke a thousand words.
"Colonel - I don't know if you can copy - but we have a situation. That ship is the Astrid!"
The comms with Hermes lance was now total static and my C3 network to the slave unit in thier lance was severed. More importantly an entire company of mechs had appeared ahead of us and were rapidly approaching.
The pirate forces were splitting up as they approached, with one a light and fast lance approaching fast a slower mixed lance trailing behind them and a heavy lance circling to flank us.
"Tighten up Ares. Ice, watch the flanking lance, I think I see an Archer in there. If they try to hit us from long range, tear them apart."
"Copy lead" The light mechs were practically upon us. I could identify them as they approached: An Assasin was leading the charge, followed in wedge formation by a Bishamon, a Brigand, and a lowly Stinger.
"Engage at will"
I set my sights on the Bishamon, who was packing a little more firepower than I'd like to have closing in to short range. I sent off a screaming gauss round into body of the spider-like mech, stumbling it for a second. Then, raising the arms of my mighty Atlas, I laid out a continuous stream of laser pulses. There were occasional misses, but with the armor piercing aspects of the Mark II lasers, I was able to deal critical damage with every successful hit. After a few seconds of bombarding the diminutive mech with laser fire I got lucky and struck some myomer in one of it's legs, sending it thudding to the ground. I sent out a flight of MRMs to bury it. The massive swarm of twenty missiles shreded the remnants of it's armor and tore open the reactor in a brilliant flash of blue.
"Enemy mech destroyed"I transmitted, and turned to engage the battered Brigand mech to my right.
The diminutive Assassin, woefully outclassed by my CPLT-K5-A Catapult, was nearly torn asunder as thirty short-range missiles ripped into its torso, causing massive amounts of explosive-force damage as their warheads sheared off several tons of the antiquated biped's armor. The smaller 'Mech counterattacked with a burst of pulse laser fire which glanced past my cockpit, landing in the thick forward armor above and behind the canopy. I twisted my Catapult's torso to the left, and began circling the smaller Assassin, chewing away at its slender frame with near-constant bombardment from the twin medium pulse lasers slung under my BattleMech's nose. As the Assassin was slowly whittled down to a limping, sparking mass of charred components, I delivered a punishing blow of MRM fire into its center of mass. The impact and resulting explosion threw the forty-ton BattleMech to the ground, the sheer stopping force of its weight causing the 'Mech's fusion reactor to cave in on itself. A blossom of cerulean-blue light spilled from within the fallen war machine, engulfing it in a catastrophic explosion.
The pirates' gambit to rush at us with a light lance had failed utterly, our Assault and Heavy mechs had shreded through them like tissue paper. With the exception of the Brigand mech all the scouts had been slaughtered in the first charge. The other two lances were now in weapons range and were bringing to bear what seemed to be a carefully prepared barrage of long range weapons fire. Spheres of blue energy battered our line mechs while flights of missiles roared through the air.
I quickly worked to designate the closer of the two lances as the lances next target.
"Double time it to the next targets!"
Despite the combined might of two lances pummeling us we managed to wade through a battlefiel thick with enemy fire to close in to our main range. The only initial retaliation we could muster was Mendlecot throwing LRMs like mad from his Vulture.
As we charged through the hailstorm of energy and flak I tried to down a Panther. Rather than trying for some lucky head shot I decided to play it safe and work the reactor. A well placed Gauss round managed to nearly topple the tiny mech and tore a huge gash in the chest of the pirate. As I drew closer I followed it up wtih a quick double blast of the Mk.II pulse lasers and watched as the laser bolts punched glowing white hot holes in the armor. Seconds later the pilot punched out and the mech was awash in fusing particles. The chared and clearly radioactive remains collapsed to the ground uselessly.
With a final volley of friendly laser fire I saw the second pirate Panther rip apart under the force of an internal ammunition explosion. Now we were but 260 meters out from the pair of remaining assault mechs. The Thug let loose with a salvo from its twin SRM launchers into our already badly mauled Stalker, rending the leg further into disorder. I lined up my sights and let loose with a blast of Gauss and pulse lasers, superficially damaging it's armor. Suddenly, the Axeman threw itselft between the Thug and myself and charged full tilt right for me.
"Tag him" I called over the radio.
A rocket propelled NARC beacon flew forth from Macarhtur's Catapult and latched on to the side of the rampaging Axeman. A second later a tremendous volley of missiles roared from every mech in the lance. Easily a ton of munitions had just been dumped on the would be body gaurd and his mech was litterally torn apart by the ensuing explosion. Our mechs shuddered as the shockwave from the explosion rippeled through our line.
"Nice work, Ares-3" I commended. Then musing to myself, I wondered what would inspire a suicidal attack like that. My suspicions were the pilot in the Thug mech was important, perhaps even the leader of the entire pirate band. Whatever the case, they were going down next.
The RFL-3N Rifleman ripped into my Shadow Cat, its AC/5s doing massive amounts of damage to my lighter 'Mech's right torso and arm mount as round after round of armor-piercing depleted-uranium slugs smashed into them. Before I could recover, the sixty-ton behemoth struck again, punching further into the wounds with a concentrated blast of quad laser fire. Smoke and fire poured from the ruptures, accompanied by a hail of sparks that signified the shorting out of my gauss rifle.
Damnit!
Wheeling the Shadow Cat's undamaged left flank into the line of fire, I squeezed off a volley of energy fire from my remaining ER medium lasers. The coherent light collided with the Rifleman's prominent arm mounts, doing negligible amounts of damage. I was extremely outclassed.
"Hermes Lead to Hermes Lance - report status!"
"Hermes-2 reporting engaged with Archer!"
"This is Hermes-3...I'm taking on a Merlin at the moment, boss."
"Hermes-4 here - I'm trying not to get hit, sir. Something I can help you with?"
"Affirmative, Hermes-4. I'm dancing with the Rifleman at the moment - and it seems to have the upper hand. I've lost my gauss rifle, and the weapons I have left aren't cutting through its armor. Any chance I could get an assist?"
"Affirmative, Hermes Lead. I'll do what I can."
Seconds later, Private Martinez's RVN-CS-A3 Raven charged out of the desert haze, unleashing a flood of LRM-5s into the Rifleman's rear arc. The heavy 'Mech bucked forward as its aft armor fractured, and began to turn toward the Raven, only to be met by a blast of energy directed straight at its cockpit. The large 'Mech's canopy glass polarized, frosting to a glossy black.
"Nice shooting, Hermes-4. Too bad he - "
Before I had time to finish transmitting, the Rifleman was ravaged with innumerable autocannon slugs, as well as countless long-range missiles. The force of the impacts knocked the larger 'Mech from its feet, sending it crashing to the earth. As the machine struggled to right itself, I pivoted my crippled Shadow Cat in the direction of the firer. A large, stocky BattleMech, which bore a striking resemblance to an oversized Cauldron Born, slowly emerged from the desert sands, firing barrage after savage barrage into the flailing Rifleman, spitting ammunition forth from as many as six Ultra AC/2s. I watched in amazement as the pirate 'Mech was reduced to a Swiss-cheesed mess of wrecked electronic components and destroyed weapons by the new arrival. In under a minute, the Rifleman had been eliminated.
"This is Colonel Taylor Reese, of Crayven Securities, Incorporated. Nice of you boys to drop by. Looks like you could use a hand."
Stryker's manuever had worked out flawlessly. We managed to get the lay of the land and locate critical Crayven assests, then once the shooting had started we could waylay our enemies from behind. The lance we were attacking was intended as fire support, much likes ourselves, and failed to notice us until we were laying into them with full alpha strikes. The Archer I was harassing tried it's hardest to throw me off, weaving left and right trying to evade my probing missile fire while still bearing it's own massive firepower on Ares. After the third succesful volley of LRMs hammered into it's side I started getting the attention I deserved.
The Archer pilot straightened out and came to a halt, then after aligning the torso just right, the mech started to lope backwards and towards me. A sudden laser blast revealed this seeming blunder as an act of further discouragement, rear facing medium lasers are bad news for a mech as tender as mine. I chose to stick it out though, dodging as best I could, as the pilot tried to handle both pinpoint missile volleys and shooting jack rabbit mechs through a rear camera.
It wasn't until Ares lance had completely knocked out all other pirate lances that the Archer finnally went down. My firepower wasn't nearly able to handle such a massive machine, but they simply tore it apart after Martinez made a quick spotting pass. I also noted with some joy that the beleaguered mechs of the CSV Foundation were still able to deploy some support.
With the last of the pirates in the immediate area in thier death throes I decided to break the mood a little. I keyed up Martinez and quibbed,
"Watch it 4, you keep it up and they'll have you running suicide spotting for the rest of your career!"
To which he shot back,"I'll be running this lance inside of a year. I hope you're taking notes."
With the all lancemates defeated this Thug was little more than a defiant target. Ares closed in for the kill, easily able to bear the retaliation of the most capable mech they had fielded. Suddenly my Atlas bucked under the strain of heavy weapons fire, I was being peppered by SRMs. From the cockpit I could see the smoke billowing out of my mech's shoulder, damage indicators read total weapon failure for the MRM launcher in that area.
Cooly I keyed up Macarthur again, "If you would be so kind, Ares-3."
Once again out shot a NARC beacon and the Thug was plunged into a hellfire of missiles. The pilot was wise to the tactic and was out of thier mech before the first volley was fired. Raising my targetting reticule up I preparred to blast the parafoil when I watched it thud into the underside of one of our Sulla aerotech fighters from the seemingly absent Tempest Lance. The pilot was startled mid-message but merely corrected thier heading and resumed transmission.
"Ares Lead, Tempest has, woah.....uh, Tempest has eliminated jammer. Repeat jammer is down. Radar is clear as a bell."
"Affirmative." They were right, the scope lit up with solid red or blue indicators as the IFF began to be recoginized. The comm lines lost the echoes, static, and hiss that had once filled them. Better still my C3 computer began to churn with the torrent of ranging data from our spotter over in Hermes.
"Let's take it to them!"
We turned at last to face down the final lance of pirates and saw happily that Hermes was busy ambushing from the rear. I flung laser bolts and gauss rounds from maximum range to much success with the aid of Martinez. The Archer was being harassed on both sides and would be salvage in no time. This was no doubt apparent to the Archer, and as a final act of defiance, it let loose a massive barrage of LRMs upon our crippled Stalker. The explosives hammered the center torso, sending the mech collapsing to the ground.
"No ejection." I observed. "He's either out or dead now."
Suddenly the radar showed new signatures, registered as friendlies. Looked like the cavalry had arrived.
I had never seen a Deimos in live combat before - my knowledge of the design had, until this point, come entirely from intelligence reports and BattleROMs. Now, after witnessing the terrifying ease with which Colonel Reese's OmniMech waded into the midst of our conflict and simply flattened its opposition, I was thankful that my first encounter with the design had been friendly.
"Colonel - it looks like our flyboys managed to knock out the jammers - my grid's back online. You've sure got a sizable war party with you."
The comm channer squawked and chirped momentarily as Reese encryped our transmission - a sure indicator that her response was not going to be something that I wanted to hear.
"Don't let the friendlies fool you, Major. We modified an IFF jammer to emit a series of false sensor signals, and retrofitted it to this Deimos. While your targeting computer shows a Cygnus, a Warhawk, and a Marauder II keeping me company, the reality is, I'm the only MechWarrior out here from the Foundation."
I cursed silently.
"I commend your creativity Colonel, but I'm afraid I must ask - where are the other seven lances we showed attached to the Foundation?"
"Destroyed, captured, and incapacitated, for the most part. We had to trade several BattleMechs for supplies a few months back when the Blakists temporarily cut off the HPG links, and we cannibalized several others for their parts to keep the remaining lances going. The surviving elements are currently holding the Foundation and the Astrid from being overrun by these...bandits."
"I see."
"Now it's my turn to ask the questions, Major - and I have only one: who is the corporate officer in charge of your expeditionary force?"
"That would be Director Gen Miyamoto, ma'am. He's planetside - commanding Ares Lance."
"Very good. I suggest you direct this lance to link up with Ares immediately. The longer we stand around out here, the more vulnerable we're making ourselves."
I fell into position slightly behind and to the right of Major Stryker's badly mutilated Shadow Cat, affording the smaller Clan OmniMech a massive amount of covering firepower, while allowing the Major to maintain his lead position in the lance, which had assumed a standard Clan wedge formation. Although hostile equipment would register two lances moving through the desert maelstrom, it would take only one sharp-eyed observer to see through our guise, and as such, haste was absolutely of the essence. Fortunately, Stryker seemed to understand this concept, and led the lance as quickly as the slowest 'Mech in the formation could move across the desert, our leviathan machines loping toward Director Miyamoto's position at a breakneck pace.
I locked my autopilot into 'formation' mode, a new feature introduced into the latest release of the Clan software powering the Deimos' navigation systems, and swiveled in my command chair to face the gear bag set on the shelf to my right. Pulling a ROM disc from the bag's outer pocket, I removed the CD from its case, and pressed it into the Deimos' integrated disc drive. Pivoting forward in the command chair once more, I watched as the ROM's data was loaded into the OmniMech's active memory. The Foundation's remaining force compositions, manpower, inteliigence reports, crew manifests, ship's logs, and the sum total of the data obtained on the Astrid derelict flashed across the HUD. Hitting 'select all,' I compressed the data into an encrypted flash packet, and established a tight-beam connection to Director Miyamoto's Atlas.
"Widowmaker to Redeemer. Prepare for packet flash. Encryption key is 't32ag58bw.'"
"Redeemer acknowledges. Go."
I hit the 'transmit' key, and watched as the Deimos' powerful onboard supercomputer transmitted the packet. Moments later, Miyamoto replied with a terse acknowledgement.
"Redeemer reports packet received. Analysis underway. What is your ETA?"
As the Colonel transmitted massive waves of information to me I was presently engaged in finishing a Merlin mech. It was a tough little number, but almost half my weight. For every volley of LRMs and PPC fire I was able to counter with a greater MRM salvo and the constant onslaught of my second generation lasers. At last the reactor sprung enough leaks to go critical and left a charred hulk of wreckage where once a formidible adversary had stood.
All enemies in the area were down with the exception of a retreating Panther which I would leave in the capable hands of Hermes Lance. I wanted to review the notes I had been sent so I set course for the advised nav beta with the rest of Ares and locked in the autopilot.
"Hermes you're on clean up, Ares follow my lead. Colonel, would you care to assume command now?"
"Negative, Redeemer. This is still your show, but stick to the navs I sent you. I don't want any camps missed in your sweep."
The Savior recovery vehicle trundled to a halt beside my ravaged Shadow Cat, wrapping the battered war machine in a mechanical embrace as its repair scaffold extended around it. I shielded my eyes against the billowing sandstorm, watching as technicians swarmed over the OmniMech, replacing missing sections of armor, clearing ammo feeds, and attempting to make the machine as battle-ready as possible in the precious few minutes available before the combined elements of Ares and Hermes Lance moved for their final assault on the pirate holdings.
"Widowmaker to Damocles - what is your status?"
An air of impatience dominated Colonel Reese's voice as her transmission crackled across my comm unit. I glanced at my wrist-mounted PDA, which glowed in the muted desert light, displaying the repair status of the Shadow Cat.
"Repairs are still in progress, Colonel. Estimated time to completion - two minutes."
A loud sigh blurted aross the comm unit.
"Light a fire under those technicians, Major. We can't stand around waiting for you forever."
Damocles was taking some downtime for repairs, leaving us to play clean up with the Panther. It was hardly a chore with it's main weapon system stripped from it and within moments we were setting course for nav Beta.
Suddenly Stryker struck up the comms for the entire unit and stated, "Our next target is a Seeker dropship assisted by her vehical compliment. I want careful fire when we go in. Strip off weapons and knock out the engines, we'll want to capture it if we can. Maintain a safe distance at all times however, they might get desperate and blow her up to keep it out of our hands."
"We knab this bird and mad max will need another general just for logistics" I quibbed. This corporation was making a serious comeback for having been bombed into the stoneage a year ago. "Cut the chatter and hit the navs, I'm en route."
I wisely toggled my radio off of vox and throttled into a full run.
The scream of sixteen LRM carriers establishing a hard missile lock on my Catapult filled the confines of my cockpit with an electronic cacaphony as our lances drew close to the Seeker-Class DropShip standing between us and our mission objective. I slammed my BattleMech into a hard evasive maneuver, breaking formation as I attempted to draw a bead on the entrenched vehicles. Ahead of me, Colonel Reese's Deimos waded through plumes of smoke and fire as its massive autocannons laid waste to a twin set of Centipede scout cars, drawing first blood in the process.
A chirp from my targeting computer announced a confirmed fix on the location of the missile boats. Ten standard LRM carriers were spread out in a fan formation around the base of the Seeker, supported by six heavy carriers which had arranged themselves in a staggered firing line behind the smaller rigs. They were no match for my Catapult in one-on-one combat; however, massed fire from the group would mean an instant death sentence for my sixty-five ton BattleMech. The Colonel and I would have to strike hard and fast if we wanted to get the upper hand on the ground-pounders. I opened a channel to Director Miyamoto's Atlas, requesting authorization for Reese and I to begin our run.
"Rouge to Redeemer - I have visual on the fire-support units. Awaiting your orders."
The resuce team had reached the second bastion of pirates and it was a farcry from the previous captain's crew. These pirates either by choice or by chance had traded versatility and mobility for crude, long range firepower. A vehical force of almost entirely LRM carriers formed a screen protecting thier homebase, a dropship. While Stryker and his cronies in tactical would deem this band of tangos a signifgantly lower threat there was still a very real danger. With the losses and damage we had taken, we were highly vulnerable to being beaten into submission soley by sheer ordinance.
Macarthur asked me to make the call, so I did. "This is Redeemer, break and attack."
Hermes shot ahead in thier lighter, more mobile mechs. Seconds later the sky was a light with the first of many barrages of missiles. Hermes was luckily equipped with LAMS that would at least soften the hailstorm of missiles, Ares would just have to tough it out.
The air was thick with munitions as the pirate lauchers began thier fussilade. I charged ahead of the assault mechs and pulled to the extreme left of the artillery line. I felt almost guilty flanking the missile batteries, being one of the few mechs with LAMS I am best equiped for defeating this type of threat. I knew that acting as a decoy was tactically unsound, my LAMS could too easily overheat, fail, or miss thus leaving me open for a world class beating. Even so I couldn't shake the slight twinge of guilt, like I was leaving fellow soldiers out to dry.
Training and reason prevailed and I followed the standard procedure; a fast flanking attack while minimizing risks. I took a quick check through my rear camera to see the destruction being wraught on our lines. The Vulture was struggling to stand after a hard knock it had taken and the Catapult had seen better days. It seemed the pirates were fairly accurate, no doubt well practiced at this kind of combat. My check was brief though as I couldn't afford to waste time.
The press was fast and easy, only one standard LRM carrier took the time to fire a flight of LRMs at me, but quickly lost interest when a Gauss round impacted its side armor. As I neared the line of missile carriers a pair of Galleon tanks attempted to prevent my attack. Despite being well out of maximum range for thier small lasers they discharged them anyway, perhaps to tell me they meant buisness.
I set my sights on the nearest tank and tore into it with my trio of lasers, which blasted straight through the vehical without hesitation. It was reduced to flaming wreckage. I turned slightly to target the next tank, still rushing a high speed, and loosed a flight or LRMs. With their advanced guidance systems and at such close range they had no trouble finding thier mark and pummeled the turret into scrap. The Galleon could still move, though it was nearly harmless. The pirate seemed undetered though and rushed towards in a desperate attack.
We drew closer and closer to one another as we both raced at full throttle, and just as it came within range for its pitiful remaining weapons I engaged jumpjets and flew high over and past the tiny tank. My target had been the LRM carrier, which I landed on with a resounding crunch. Ammunition feeds and loading mechanisms spilled over as the firing systems were crushed under my 40 ton bulk. I was now at the left most point of the wall of LRM carriers, ready to tear them apart.
Sixteen missile carriers, targeted by twin MRM-30 launchers with MultiTrac support, meant that there were plenty of medium-range missiles to go around - three highly-explosive warheads to each carrier - more than enough to rip through the ground-pounders' thick hides and detonate the warheads stored within. As LeSalle drew the fire of the entrenched artillery, I opened fire, my Catapult thundering inbound even as an overwhelming amount of firepower poured from its timber boxes, threatening to throw the sixty-five ton machine off-balance and send it crashing to the earth. Plume after plume of flame erupted skyward as the missile-toting trucks were chain-detonated by their own munitions, those spared by the initial onslaught dispatched quickly by the powerful medium pulse lasers slung under my Catapult's nose. A yell of glee escaped my mouth as the field of vehicles was reduced to little more than a spread of smoking craters in under a minute, leaving only empty space between the Seeker-class DropShip and myself.
"Hunter to Redeemer - reporting enemy missile lances destroyed. What's my next target?"
The line of LRM Carrier were shattered. Hermes was flanking from both sides and Ares was returning fire heavily. Macarthur proved to be the final straw, with a head on sweeping missile slavo. Pirate tanks still roamed the area but not nearly as well oragnized or powerful as this missile line. I turned my focus from the swaths of destruction and fire to face a flanking trio of Scorpion tanks.
They announced thier pressence with blasts from thier 5 class autocannons, sending shells clattering against my heavy armor. I sent an immediate response of laser fire and a gauss round which easily blasted through the front armor and crushed the crew inside. Thier approach was liesurely, at about 50 kph, which made it easy to line up a missile salvo on the next hapless pirate. A hail of Medium and Short range missiles showered the Scorpion into rubble. Though it could still move, the turret was useless and the weapon mounted there shredded. That left one tank to anhiliate. No doubt aware of the direness of thier situation the crews seemed to fight indignently on, blasting with all guns. They did little to slow me, but I was impressed at the courage. A twin blast of series two lasers tore through thier armor and burst one of the valuable treads. The tank suddenly began to spin like a pinwheel as it's right side lost any semblance of traction. The crews bailed at this point and I left well enough alone, the salvage would be in better condition and probably recoop some of the serious losses of Crayven assests.
A quick tightbeam returned my attention to the unit and away from the now defeated armor.
"Redeemer, it looks like the dropship crews are game for a fight. Move your lance to support, we'll mop up later."
"Affirmative" I acknowledged and quickly swung my mech around towards the now powered up behemoth. As soon as I began sizing up the dropship I saw it unleash its modest firepower on the Colonel. Her strange mech's leg shredded under the combined firepower of a PPC, Large Laser, and LRMs. To which she seethed,
With a vengeance, I unleashed the combined firepower of six Class-2 Ultra Autocannons directly at the Seeker's center of mass, moving my now-crippled Deimos into a slow, painful Circle of Death around the stationary vessel as the 'Mech dragged its crippled leg uselessly. A massive crater was blasted in the DropShip's armor as the rounds hit home. I followed up the retaliatory strike with a volley of laser fire, accompanied by a barrage of missiles which ravaged the weakened ship's substructure, sending plumes of smoke, fire, and fountains of sparks spouting from the wound.
A crackling bolt of purple electroplasma rocketed past my cockpit, missing the canopy glass by mere inches, and sending a static charge rippling across the Deimos' frame. I counted my blessings as the charge dissipated - a direct hit from a Naval PPC would almost certainly have spelled disaster.
A thunderous roar erupted from my OmniMech's gunports as I let fly hundreds of depleted-uranium rounds into the offending cannon, riddling it with baseball-sized holes until the turret was little more than a hulk of smoking, twisted metal. Brilliant green beams of coherent light responded, carving away at my port missile rack until it exploded violently, causing the Deimos' torso to buck violently. A chain-detonation of the LRM launcher's ammo feeds ensued, blowing out several subsystems within my 'Mech's chassis.
"No matter...not like I needed those heat sinks anyway..."
With pin-point accuracy my lancemates and I quickly disarmed the hostile dropship. It had dealt some serious damage to Colonel Reese and forcibly removed an arm off the other Chimera, but otherwise left our forces unhindered. With a majority of it's armaments blown off and it's armor being ripped off by intense ground fire this bird would be ours in moments.
Sensing the battle had turned to be utterly unrecoverable the crew attempted to run for it. Plumes of smoke and dust flew out from underneath the domed vessel as its engines roared to life. The cones of fire scorched the soil and warped the already tepid desert air. These sights, while perhaps fantastic to a civilian in the periphery, filled me with no awe; only the feeling of profound power. The turtle was on its back as it were, and we are not paid to be merciful.
The salvo was intense. Nobody heldback, and with a single aft laser being the sole retaliation offered, nobody even manuevered. It was more like a shooting exercise than a battle. The Seeker had unimpressive armor for its size, most notibly in the aft, so it was surprising to see the kind of resiliance that was exhibited. It had gained enough altitude that I was persuaded to use my jumpjets to keep pace. But with a gratifying final volley from Widowmaker and a majority of Hermes we were able to cause enough damage to bring down the dropship.
It was the stuff of purile holovids, the kind that were compiled and bootlegged for the chronically bored youth; a giant metal sphere plummeting from high altitude. The impact was tremendous and could be easily felt miles away. When we approached to survey the damage and claim the ship I was disappointed to see the living members of the crew fleeing for thier lives. I had hoped, almost expected them to destroy the ship to keep it out of our hands. I was maybe too used to dealing with the valorous units of the house or fanatical legions of Comstar and Blakists. It was almost quaint to see people who cared more about their own hides than tactical values.
We overlooked the wreckage for a few moments while the officers conferenced over the comms. At last my orders came from the major.
"Attention Hermes, we are proceeding to Nav Delta. Form on me."
I could see Ares was coming along too, which begged the question, "Sir, who will be protecting the salvage here?"
"The Colonel will remain behind. The Foundation may be deploying more relief for us, but it's still uncertain."
With the Seeker brought down and the vehicals eliminated there was only one camp of pirates remaining. The Colonel was grudingly going to remain behind and baby sit the drop ship, to ensure both its safety and her own. We were still going strong and the op didn't look too far from conclusion, not a bad job if I said so myself.
While we strode on our destructive way, I coordinated with the freshly resupplied Tempest lance to come meet us and provide long range spotting. The kind of vehicals we would be facing would be well adapted to skirmishing us, costing us dearly before we took the field. I intended to get an entirely different outcome.
"I don't care about the ordinance, I need air support in here now. I want you dusting off ASAP."
"We'll do our best, Colonel."
No sooner had I ended my transmission than did a gauss round puncture my mech's right shoulder.
Ragh! I quickly corrected and noted the pressence of a small party of hovercraft, Regulators every one of them. They were making a quick pass to our left while putting up a stiff volley of fire. The magnetic rounds pounded our armor, shredding limbs and shoving chasiss. We couldn't afford to wait for Tempests support, so I did the best I could in a precarious situation.
My Shadow Cat was bombarded with a hail of gauss rounds, ripping through my armor with such force that my OmniMech was sent staggering drunkenly forward, its weapons firing blindly into the earth as the Regulators swarmed toward me.
"Ares, I think I've got their attention! I'm going to need you to get these guys off me PDQ!"
"Roger that, Hermes. Get them moving toward us and we'll do the rest."
Sending my Shadow Cat into a reeling charge, I barreled straight through the flock of Regulators, crushing one flat underfoot as I fled toward Ares Lance. Multiple explosions rocked my OmniMech's rear armor as the tanks continued their relentless assault, and component after component winked out on my console as, slowly, the war machine began to succumb to the onslaught.
"Ares, there's not going to be much left of my 'Mech by the time I get there! You may want to step it up a bit!"
The trap Redeemer had called for didn't take. Even with the Major throwing caution to the wind with his charge (a surprising move, from what I knew of Stryker), the hovercraft were to mobile and passed through him like water through a sieve. The heavy hitters in Ares tried in vain to catch the Regulators before they could escape to longer range. Martinez, thier ace in the hole for situations like these, was behind me and barely keeping pace and thus out of range to provide effective targetting data.
Smoke issued from the new wounds dealt to the Major's mech almost as profusely as orders from his radio. I turned to maintain pursuit on these zippy little tanks and was pleased to see at least one of Ares making progress. It was 4, in the Vulture. He was pulling a wide flanking action to the extreme left of the line formation Ares had formed. With our mechs closing from the other side, the Regulators would soon be bottled between us and pushed into an untenable position.
Then, all of a sudden, small explosions enveloped the Clan Omnimech, sending it collapsing to the ground among a cluster of flashes. It took only a second to realize the ploy.
"Mines" barked the major.
At almost the last second my probe started getting an enormus number of tiny, infantry-grade landmines. I wasn't about to give up the chase and let these pirates hide behind thier pitiful traps and cheap tricks. Engaging my jumpjets I flew low over the mines, keeping but a scant few meters off the ground and instead perserving maximum fuel for a marathon drive forward. Seconds later, as my jets finally ceased I braced as my mech hit sand. Aside from the initial impact of landing I couldn't discern any explosions. A quick probe scan showed no mines in the area and I could see fellow lancemates following my example. All but Martinez...
Without Jumpjets he'd be unable to give chase. No doubt Ares could use his assistance still though, with more pirate assests possibly roaming. The last of my remaining lance, Stryker's mangled [/i]Shadow Cat, landed and the hunt was on.
"This time" I assured myself, "they won't get away so easily."
Hermes Lance, with reckless abandon, skated across an uncharted minefield, causing the pursuing Regulators to skid to a halt on its outskirts. One of the tanks reacted too late, sliding into the booby-trapped expanse and exploding in a spectacular fireball. Our lance began to tighten the noose, flanking closer to the remaining three Regulators. Where the Saladin had ended up was anyone's guess - it had either been destroyed or was somehow evading my sensor sweeps - either way, the Regulators were presently the far bigger threat. I drew a bead on the armored cavalry, my MultiTrac computer painting a trio of red boxes across the HUD. Seconds later, a ferocious barrage of MRM fire rained down upon the three tanks, sending one of the trio reeling into the minefield, where it met its end. The other two were riddled with smoking, flaming holes. Training my lasers on the surviving vehicles, I delivered a quick one-two punch, blowing the tanks into the afterlife with a great deal of flair.
The tanks were dispatched quickly by Macarthur and we saddled up toward the craggy highlands that hid the final camp of pirates. Thier forces were unknown, but there seemed to be a lot of gaps between what intelligence predicted and what we encountered. There was a great deal of uncertainity in what remained of the pirate forces and I was going to show all the needed caution.
"Redeemer, I advise we remain seperated. We'll be able to achieve victory more quickly. Martinez will stay on with your lance, he cannot successfully navigate the minefied."
"Affirmative, good hunting Major."
With that I swung wide of a rocky outcropping and the reenforced Hermes pulled into formation.
Moments passed as my altimeter slowly crawled higher. We came across a narrow gap in between two rocky mounts and had to compress into a single file, to fit through. All of sudden a series of explsosions rocked our line of mechs. As the smoke cleared the mountain sides were carpeted with infantry racing towards us. Before and behind us were tanks converted civilian vehicals. We had wandered into an ambush!
I opened fire with lasers and MRMs, sadly my SRMs and Gauss Rifle had both long been out of ammunition. The last battle had begun and we had them fiercly out gunned.
A gang of ground vehicals were racing towards me as top speed as occasional weapons fire rocked my Atlas Battemech, all while legions of infantry poured out of hiding on the two rocky mountains on either side of our worn out unit. When springing the ambush on us, it seems that they dumped every ounce of explosive firepower on us in one powerful bombardment. The ground was littered with make-shift demolition packs that failed to detonate, and apparently ranged from as crude as volitile gas tanks to as complex as bundles of hand grenades. The results on our lance, as I learned, were devastating. My communiations dish had been disabled, despite being stowed away in it's armor compartment. I was unable to maintain contact with any of the lances and short range radio communications were near impossible due to the rocky terrain around me.
I quickly did a status check with the lance to see if any one had faired any worse to find Macarthur batteling an onboard fire after an internal ammunition explosion and Martinez giving no response at all. My return fire was paniced, I was doing a poor job maintaining my cool, and accordingly was innacurate. The Scorpions approached to a dangerously close range and began to follow up thier cannon fire with a spray of machine gun rounds. I lined up my good arm with the tanks only to have a shell fly right through the hyperfocused optics that lent the Mark II pulse lasers thier tactical edge; deep armor penetration, not to mention utterly diabling the device for any use. My ammunitions spent I had a stunning one weapon remaing to ward off my pirate assailants.
I lined up my crosshairs and opened fire with all I had. Despite loosing several heatsinks in the battles preceeding this I could still comfortably dissipate more heat than I could ever possibly generate with just one Large X-pulse laser, so I fired mercilessly. The dusty old pirate tanks were well travelled and worn after years of third-rate repairs and less than adequate maintance, appropriatley they showed the kind of patchy armor protection and problematic mechanical failures that I would expect from a slipshod operator such as this scum. One tank became disabled before I even shot at it, suffering from a malfunction occuring somewhere in the loading or firing mechanisms.
After trading some fire with these now circeling tanks I was able to disuade further cannon fire. As I turned to engage a fleeing pick up truck that mounted little more than a glorified machine gun array I was stopped short by a loud explosion. Suddenly my mech was falling backwards and landed in a heap on the ground. Looking down I could see the plume of smoke issuing from the knee of my mech, the handy work of an explosive mounted by some half-suicidal attacker. The real threats were gone, and only pirates remained and they couldn't have been armed with more than machines guns and LAWs. Didn't they realize they were outclassed. Or were supposed to be at any rate.
Attempts to right my mech failed as a flurry of explosions enveloped my prone mech, egged on by the partial success. Myomer was damaged in both right limbs now and only the left arm kept any armament left, so doing what I could I braught the barrel to ground level and begin firing towards groups of soldiers. Clouds of dirt and blood were tossed up as my laser blasts scorched thier way through flesh and rock. An in-rushing attacker brandishing a flame thrower was foolish enough to approach me from the same side and I quickly crushed him under my fist. It proved to be a satisfying kill that is rarely afforded to mechwarrior.
But for all my firepower my lack of mobility soon proved too big a crutch and the infantry simply cleared out from that area, choosing to carry the fight to other mechs or wreck thier horrible, tiny vengence to other areas of my mech. A loud clunking sound alerted me to a pirate just below my Atlas's neck, trying to place a large pack of explosives. I unharnessed myself and drew my Crayven issued side arm, a micro-gauss pistol. I set the weapon to ready, waited for a sufficient charge, and steadied my aim. One of the many advantages that had attracted Charles' favor was the pistol's ability to fling rounds through Ferro-glass, much to my satisfaction this meant I did not have to expose myself to protect myself. Before I got a chance to fire however the explosives detonated, and prematurly at that, unless the bomber had intended to end it all. The shock wave cracked the glass and threw me back into the command couch. I remained there, starring at the cracks forming in the glass untill a pair of pirates showed up, apparently to see if they could smash open the cockpit. I dispatched them both quickly trading two nickel rounds for two more corpses and a pair of holes in my ever weakening canopy.
Another loud crash sounded what I could only assume was another mech being downed, made more profound by the ever widening gaps between the sounds of mech weapons fire. Could we have been loosing to infantry? I threw off my cooling jacket and moved my knife from the ankle sheath and tucked it into my belt, then with my off hand I grabbed a second magazine. If I was going down, I was going down swinging.
As I readied for a grim final battle with pirates on a rock I had no wish to die on I couldn't help but think that this was supposed to be my safest job yet; an adminstrator in a big paramilitary corporation. The irony of dying in combat five light years short of a desk I was about to push papers over until I died seemed overpowering. My ruminations were replaced by readiness as I saw the net group who wanted to take a crack at killing me. Over a dozen pirates, all armed, climbed up onto the torso and slowly approached low and leading with two heavy shields that looked like large discarded shards of reactive armor. Thier rediculous approach was unneccary, I didn't even have the ammunition to kill them all if they stood in a line.
As I readied for what was certainly my final battle I was stunned when I saw a huge spray of blood and heard the scream of machine gun fire. My rescue was at the hands of none other than Crayven Marines. Thier armored suits seemed to glow with a dark aura as if to warn they were death incarnate, and to pirate scum they would prove to be. Thier huge shielded machine guns cut swaths of devastation in the crowds of raiders, at last bringing relief to my unit and drawing fire away from us. A familiar series of impacts sounded the cavalry's arrival, more Battlemechs had been deployed from the CSV Foundation. I couldn't see them unfortunatley, but from the weapons fire one thing was certain: they meant buisness.
The battle was brought to a swift close thanks to the reinforcments from Colonel Reese. I was outside of my mech within ten minutes, surveying the damage and enjoying a Cuban Pete cigar (a parting gift from the General). Those pirates had put up one hell of a fight, but a full lance of mechs and two squads of Crayven Marines and Crayven Jagers turned the tide.
I'd had it with backwater fights and two-bit bushwackers nearly costing me my life, once I got to Alpheratz I was staying.
"Recovery teams Alpha and Bravo, begin salvage operations. Technical Company Zulu, initiate rescue and repair procedures. All lances - move to Nav Omega and establish a defensive perimeter around the Foundation."
With a high whine, my BattleMech's ravaged fusion reactor wound down, signalling the end to an engagement we clearly had not been prepared for - it was a testament to their tactical finesse that Colonels Miyamoto and Reese had even managed to pull us through. The sheer amount of attrition incurred by the engagement would ordinarily have sent the company's top-level brass into an frenzy. But the rewards reaped by the operation's success far outweighed the likely cost of restoring the lost assets. Not only had the Overlord-class Foundation been recovered - intact - along with a great deal of its crew, but a far greater discovery which would ultimately revolutionize the company's balance of power and capabilities had also been made. The C.S.S. Astrid, the staggeringly powerful once-flagship of the Crayven Corporation which had been thought lost for over a century had been found, and the intelligence reports concerning the viability of its recovery and return to active duty were looking extremely promising. Preliminary analysis suggested that the ship had been soft-crashed onto the planet's surface for reasons that were yet to be understood, thereby preserving the majority of the vessel's critical systems. It would take several months to fully excavate the battlecruiser and effect sufficient repairs to allow the ship to return to Sheratan for a complete overhaul, during which time the current garrison, save for Colonel Miyamoto, would remain on site in order to ward off any further attacks. Scuttlebutt had it that the Colonel was soon to be departing for a high-level assignment on Alpheratz, the details of which had been kept under tight wraps by the board of directors. Though I was encouraged to see the company regaining its former strength, a chilling thought flashed across my mind.
With Miyamoto in the Outworlds...and Maxwell on maneuvers...that means I'll be answering to Caswell soon.
The concept was more than slightly concerning. I wondered what it would take to get reassigned to the Alpheratz project.
Days had passed since the combat operation was concluded, and the debriefing had been rigorous. Tactical just about threw a fit when nearly an entire lance was pushed to "crippled" status by infantry. The mountains of paperwork had been slowly worn down and now the two support dropships CSV Kastor and Pollux had arrived. The repairs would be arduous and I was glad to have pressing buisness elsewhere.
The crews on the Foundation had been long overdue for return to whatever homes and families remained after the start of the jihad of the WOB. The ship was bound for Alpheratz for priority repair at thier shipyard before return to Sheraton to rotate the personnel. It would be via the Foundation that I would arrive at my post.
It was about damn time that I hung up my neurohelemt and settled into some cushy, safe work. Better still I was in the very outermost reaches of the Inner Sphere where Blakists were rare. Aside from periodic reviews and regular reports I was going to be pretty much holding the reins out in the Alliance. Things were looking up indeed.
The time came at last, and as I first came aboard Colonel Reese's ship the last vestiges of combat obigations evaporated.
